


The Nowhere Trip

by Kayfox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:53:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayfox/pseuds/Kayfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seamus didn't quite expect their car trip to turn out like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_I want to entangle myself_   
_In the fabric of your jackets,_   
_Sleep on leather upholstery,_   
_Wear oversized t-shirts._

\----- 

The idea of the car trip starts out casual. Dean mentions it over dinner one night, while they're sitting on the couch, take-out Chinese boxes lying on the coffee-table in front of them as the radio plays old jazz tunes. He pitches it like it's not a serious thing, not a _talk_ , but casual conversation.

It's simply - "Shay, do you think we could go on a vacation?"

"A vacation? To where?" Seamus replies. He's still sleepy at that time of the day, and he stretches and yawns as he replies. The nap he just took hasn't been shaken off yet, and Seamus is still dressed in his singlet and boxers.

"I don't know. Travel." Dean says. He takes a careful bite of his food. "Everywhere, nowhere, to the north and the south. We haven't gone out for a long time. You know, just... travel."

Seamus yawns once more, and when he opens his mouth he has a quick reply that would shoot the idea down. But when Seamus catches the Dean's look, the burning in his eyes, Seamus realises that Dean's completely serious about this idea, casual voice be damned. "Ah," Seamus lets out a breath of surprise, and right there and then, considers the possibility of something new over cardboard box dinners.

It's been a long time since Seamus has done anything notable. Ten years have passed since the Last Battle. After that long war, of running, hiding, screaming, Seamus had joined Dean and settled down into their life in Liverpool. And it had been a place for them to cope, and deal with the wounds that war had left on them - those that weren't physical.

Seamus welcomed the routine, the safeness, the concreteness of normality. And over that first year of their new life, because Seamus had not understood the feelings he had for Dean, he'd tiptoed around Dean the way Dean had tiptoed around him, and tried to prop Dean up without fixing him.

But that was a long time ago, and all things somehow or the other worked out. Things came into the open, and since the confession nine years ago, their lives had mixed together, intertwining schedules and interests into a lazy jigsaw puzzle that would always retain a quality of paradoxical incomplete completeness. Their apartment in Liverpool had become a place to stay, and ten years have passed while they stayed within those walls.

Perhaps, Seamus thinks, they can try something new. 

"Well, why not." Seamus eventually replies, and they settle on a date, two weeks from the day.

The holiday has been long in the coming anyway, and Seamus knows Dean wants it.

\-----

_I want to smell the taste of_   
_Spicy nutmeg and soft cottons_   
_Stitched into the fabric of your soul._   
_I want to taste your skin._

\-----

It is already, so late in the night that it's already early morning when Seamus finally pads into the room after bathing. Dean is already asleep, curled up on the bed, breaths deep and slow.

Seamus is smashed. He feels the exhaustion in his muscles, in his bones, under his skin. But his last shift is done, and Seamus is free from routine for the first time in a long, long while. He has a stretch of two weeks ahead of him, with nothing to do and time to spare. And in his own way, Seamus welcomes this change, though he doesn't quite embrace it either. 

Dean stirs from his sleep when Seamus gets onto the bed. Murmuring a greeting, Seamus slides under the duvet and nudges Dean, whose eyes are barely cracked open. Dean looks sleep-warm, blurry but aware, and Seamus leans over and kisses Dean gently before resting his head on Dean's shoulder. "It's tomorrow." Seamus says.

"Later, you mean." Dean corrects.

"Yeah," Seamus acknowledges. "Sleep, Dean." 

"I'll drive first," Dean tells Seamus, sounding almost as if he sighing. "You can sleep in the back if you're tired." Seamus makes a sound in response, already too tired to respond, and closes his eyes. With all the exhaustion of settling his affairs in proper order, sleep claims him within seconds.

Five hours later, Dean nudges Seamus, and Seamus comes awake, still groggy. Their bags are already lying next to the door of their apartment, and Seamus is chased out of the bedroom to get dressed. Once properly attired, Seamus watches Dean blearily, cup of coffee in hand, as Dean makes the final checks. "Well, hurry up," Dean says when he catches Seamus watching him and not drinking his drink, and Seamus sticks out his tongue. "Get a move on." Dean says, completely unfazed.

Seamus finishes up his coffee just as Dean finishes zipping up their bags. Drying out the cup, Seamus follows Dean as they exit the apartment, locking the door, and make their way downstairs to their car. Seamus helps Dean load their packs in the back of the car whilst Dean checks the gas. 

The door handle of the car is cold, and before Seamus realises it, they're driving off.

Seamus lies upon the leather upholstery and absently watches the world slide by. It's been a long time since he has left home, and the sensation of distance falling away awakens his thoughts.

Seamus has never done thing kind of thing - leaving his place, that is. Seamus invites people to visit him, he doesn't go anywhere unless life tells him to. Dean is the one who moves, leaves, and returns. Dean is the one who ventures out to pitch his works and sell his ideas. It always was this way - Dean going and Seamus staying. What he's doing now - it's like he's being lightened and made happier because he's doing something _different_.

That in itself draws a few feelings up that Seamus has not dealt with, and doesn't quite want to. 

"I was serious about sleeping, you know." Dean interrupts Seamus' thoughts, and Seamus cuts back to reality, relieved for the distraction. Dean eyes Seamus from the side, and shakes his head slightly. With one hand, Dean gropes around the back of the car till he finds the sweaters that they had tossed into the car a few days back in preparation for the trip. He tosses one to Seamus, and Seamus, loose-limbed, doesn't even try to catch it. "Get some sleep, Shay." He says. "I'll wake you up later."

Seamus tugs on the woollen sweater. "Alright, alright." He says, voice soft. He manages to work his hands through the sleeves, and leans over to kiss Dean on the cheek. "Thanks, Dean." He says. Dean smiles, and Seamus falls asleep to the sound of Dean's fingers tapping a gentle rhythm on the steering wheel. 

A few hours later, Dean shakes Seamus awake for the second time. He's found a cafe off the highway, and they finally have breakfast sometime around lunch. The little transgression is delightful, and Dean and Seamus take their time in eating simply because they can. 

"So, where are we going?" Seamus asks, over a mouthful of scrambled eggs. The cafe they're in is crowded. They've got a corner to themselves near the windows, which presents to them a view of a miraculously sunny day. Britain it seems, is not in a weepy mood today. Seamus thinks it agrees with his own mood.

"I was thinking of Leicester first." Dean shrugs. "Luna's there, we can stay a night or two with her." Seamus hums in agreement. Dean and Luna are not the likeliest of friends, but war had brought them together, forging a bond that Seamus would never fully understand. "I'm not sure where to after that - I'm keeping our options free." 

"Sounds good," Seamus says. "Should we tell her we're coming?"

"Ah, I settled that already." Dean says, and has the grace to look slightly shy at that admission. Seamus raises an eyebrow for the effect of it, and Dean hurries to explain. "I told her we were going to be arriving sometime between Wednesday and Friday, but I didn't tell her exactly when."

"Then we should surprise her," Seamus says magnanimously. "Luna'll love that."

\-----

_I want to curl up in the car_   
_Next to you under the milky way_   
_Whisper small things of love,_   
_And breathe in tandem with you._

\-----

Luna's new home is surprisingly, quite normal looking.

Luna had moved out of her dad's home a couple of years back. She mentioned it over a Christmas dinner, in that matter-of-fact voice that left her so blindly unassuming to the shock that that piece of news inspired in others. Luna didn't simply move away from family - Luna _loved_ her father. But Dean had guessed to Seamus in bed that night, after Luna had left, that Luna probably never got over what Xenophilius did to Harry and the others. And like most people, Luna had been changed by war irrevocably in some regards.

But then again, with Luna marrying Rolf a year after she moved out, and Rolf moving in after that - most people were pretty certain that Luna left because she wanted to. After all, if one considered everything that had happened, Luna had managed to get out of the war with most of her optimism intact. Her penchant for the unusual was unabated, and she still made it a point to visit her father every four days.

Luna was (and is) simply, Luna.

Luna reinforces this sentiment on Thursday night, when Seamus and Dean arrive at the address given to them in her loopy shorthand. "I knew you'd be coming," she promptly says upon opening the door for them, and gives them both each a cheerful hug. "I had a feeling it would be tonight." She smiles, and Rolf Scamander appears behind her to help get Seamus and Dean's bags out from the car.

The pot on the fire is bubbling nicely when they enter the kitchen, and Luna asks if they need anything to drink. Dean gently refuses Luna's offer when it becomes apparent that Luna is the one who made it. "Ah well," Luna says, not disappointed in the least. "You at least will take dinner, won't you? Rolf cooked."

"Of course we will." Seamus says automatically, and at that very moment, five-year-old Lorcan chooses to make his presence known. Luna hears his shouts as he thunders out of his room that the guests are finally here, and without breaking stride, leans down to scoop her son up and swing him around lightly in one fluid motion.

Seamus smiles at Lorcan's appearance and Lorcan's happy shouts, and he pulls on his old persona, wrapping joviality and wit around him like a familiar old coat. "Hey there, Lorcan," he says cheerfully, as they settle down for dinner.

The night is pleasantly cool, and the food Rolf cooks is excellent. The table set out for four is not enough to hold everyone, but Rolf, having foreseen that, had two chairs brought in to sit at the bartop that separates the cooking area from the dining table in the kitchen. Dean and Luna establish themselves there, and Seamus keeps company with Rolf and Lorcan. The past few days of rest have given Seamus more than enough time to build up a surplus of energy to spare, and laughter comes easily to him during the dinner. He plays up his accent when Lorcan begs for it, mimes mixing a cocktail, and shares a few choice stories that he repeats regularly to his customers, twisting them a little bit now that they're in private company.

And barely noticed, the hours slip away.

Eventually, Lorcan gets neatly caught by drinking up a cup of warm milk his father had casually left in his reach. Rolf seizes the opportunity when Lorcan yawns, and immediately bundles him off to bed. Seamus shouts one last goodbye as Rolf carries Lorcan off, and when he turns back to look at Luna and Dean, he finds them giving him similar expressions of gentleness.

"Rolf managed to get Lorcan to bed early tonight," Luna observes with her usual airy voice. "Most of the time he gets to stay up."

"He's an energetic little kid," Seamus agrees. "Takes after you, doesn't he - just a little bit off-kilter, in the best way."

Luna simply smiles in that manner that is the closest thing to an admission without being voiced aloud. "He did add too much salt to the apple pie," she admits, and Seamus laughs.

"You didn't stop him?" He says, and Luna shrugs.

"The best things are found by accident." Luna smiles. "I do believe that we still have some time before it's time for bed. You aren't on a tight schedule, now are you?" When Seamus indicates no, Luna beams. "Perfect. I'll have Newt come back later, and we can spend time talking. Talking is a great way to pass the time."

\-----

_I want us to go somewhere_   
_Where no one can find us._   
_To take a car and keep going_   
_Far from the world - and_   
_To a place where the world_   
_Is just us._

\-----

Like Luna had said, Dean and Seamus don't need a schedule. There isn't a need for one.

Back in Liverpool, almost everything Seamus and Dean did had a schedule to it. Seamus would wake up in the mornings to clean the bar, settle orders, and take a run, before returning in the afternoon to take a nap before waking up to have dinner with Dean. Dean would spend most of his time working in the little studio down at Ilsington, or wandering the streets to take photographs. But now, on the road, where everything is determined by their position on the map, Seamus doesn't have to worry about settling orders, or when to open up the doors. Dean doesn't have to worry about completing his work - though he does bring his camera along, to document their trip.

They don't have to stop because they must, they only have to stop when they want to.

Sometimes they stop for food, other times, because they're passing through towns and cities, they stop to wander around the place, to feel how Britain is slowly moving on and changing. Then there are times they stop on the side of the road, and Dean heads out to take pictures of the wild - seeing something that Seamus would pass on by.

On some occasions - strange occasions - Dean and Seamus park at the entrance of a forest trail to take a walk through the forest. There are plenty such trails in Britain, if one can get away from the concrete and glass jungles of the city long enough to look for them. But the unusual thing about these walks to Seamus is that he thought that Dean would have spent more than enough time within these forests. Dean, after all, spent a good part of the war running away in the forests of Britain and Scotland, and so many of the pictures Dean had drawn to cope with his experiences involved these dark, shady places. Seamus would think (not that he would go so far as to say he knows) that Dean wouldn't want to return to these places.

But during these jaunts, Dean walks through the forests looking perfectly fine.

Just to be safe though, Seamus summons his Patronus. And in their walks, the moonlight-silver fox bounds ahead of them, being the beacon that tells them they're safe.

On the sixth day of their trip, Dean parks their car in front of one particular forest. The set of his shoulders are tense when he gets out of the car, and his eyes are remote, as if reliving something painful. Seamus needs to take only one look at Dean as he closes the car door and knows this is _The Forest_. And suddenly, like he's been thrust out of his depth, Seamus feels extremely shy.

Seamus walks over to rest a light hand on Dean's arm. "Are you sure --" He starts, but Dean stops him before he can finish his sentence. Dean closes his eyes, and breathes deeply once, twice, thrice.

"I -- I have to face this at some point or the other." Dean says. The pain is clear in his voice. "I -- Let's go." Dean says, and with a visible effort pushes his feelings back. Squaring his shoulders, he pushes his way through the bushes, and then vanishes into the forest.

Seamus looks after Dean unhappily, but he understands what Dean needs to do. Turning back and casting a disillusionment charm on the car, he pockets his wand and shoves through the bushes as well. He feels for a few seconds twigs and thorns scrape against his parka, and then he's through into the forest, catching up to Dean, who is already vanishing into the leafy graveyard.

Something about the way Dean walks tells Seamus to keep quiet. Old Seamus may have tried to lighten up the mood, make a brash joke and bump shoulders with Dean, but after ten years, Seamus has grown quieter. He's not Old Seamus anymore - New Seamus knows how silence can comfort someone. So Seamus shadows Dean, wand gripped in his hand once more, and watches the forest for anything off.

The forest is beautiful in silence, light dappling the forest floor in blotches, revealing more of the darkness than dispelling it. They walk through the forest for an hour, never deviating, never changing direction. But Seamus knows exactly when they've arrived by watching Dean. Dean's steps pause for a moment at that exact spot of recognition, and with one last deep breath, Dean steps through another set of bushes. 

Seamus follows, and finds himself in a clearing.

Time has probably changed the place from what it used to be. Leaves crunch under Dean's feet, and Seamus watches as Dean turns around, slowly taking everything in. The clearing is gloomy like the rest of the forest - sunlight marking small patches on the leaf-strewn ground. And Dean, to Seamus, looks so small within the glade.

Dean turns, like a marionette in a snowglobe, and ignores the big logs that were probably used for sitting in the past, the rocks spaced around the clearing, the pristine, undisturbed forest floor patterned by leaves. He ignores them all, turning and searching, till he spots a tree, not too large, not to small, whose only distinguishing characteristic is its large roots that jut above the forest floor.

Dean breaks off his teetering dance, and walks towards the tree with his wand drawn. Stooping down to poke at the tree's roots, Dean mutters something too low for Seamus to catch, and between one blink and the next, whatever spell that had been left here for years is dispelled. A pile of firewood, completely dry - protected by the spell, lies in the nook of the tree's roots.

Seamus watches Dean as Dean gets to work, moving the firewood to the center of the clearing, and lets Dean do what he should have done a long time ago. But as Seamus continues to catche little glimpses of Dean's distant gaze, Seamus feels terrible. Because there's so much history bound to this pleasantly dry lonely clearing on a summer evening, and Seamus can't feel the emotional weight that is so clearly affecting Dean. It builds, as Seamus watches Dean work, and Seamus stands by the side because he doesn't know if he wants to help or if he should or if he can.

Eventually, Seamus realises that he can't just keep standing around and feeling out of place. That's not an acceptable option - that would be a betrayal to the relationship that he and Dean has. Seamus promised Dean, in being with him, that they'd be together in everything. So he moves to help. So Seamus moves with purposeful steps, and stoops to pick up the two remaining pieces of firewood that remains in the original pile. Hefting them, he makes his way over to the center of the clearing, where all the wood has been shifted to, and dumps it there with a huff. Dean watches him, half-standing, half-crouching, hands on his knees, hunched and breathing out heavily. Again, feeling abruptly shy, Seamus moves over and lays a gentle hand on Dean's back.

"Do you want to light it up?" Seamus asks gently.

"Yeah, well, wait --" Dean gets up, and Seamus drops his hand as Dean heads back to his jacket which he left on a log. Unzipping a pocket, Dean draws out a folded piece of paper that he places on the top of the pile when he returns. When he's done that small gesture, Dean closes his eyes, and then lets out a long sigh. "Yeah. Okay. Fire it up."

The resultant light from the burning of wood that had ten years to dry is beautiful.

Seamus draws Dean away from the fire, because Seamus knows better than anyone else the dangers of fire, and they sit down, leaning against a log. And as they watch the fire, Seamus feels Dean slowly loosen - letting go of a pain so tightly grasped that it had become almost part of him.

"That picture," Dean starts, about an hour later, when the fire has mostly burnt itself out. Seamus looks at Dean, and Dean's face is calm now, growing calmer as he continues to talk. "It was Ted. I - I meant to come back a long time ago to settle things, you know - for good. But somehow, I never could manage it." Dean laughs, and leans absently against Seamus, head resting on top of Seamus' head. Seamus hums.

"You did good." Seamus says, simply because he doesn't what to say, but saying anything would be better saying nothing.

Dean laughs again, a strange, strangled little laugh, and they sit there till it is almost dark. They return to their car in the dying light of the evening, with the moonlight dazzle of Seamus' fox Patronus to guide them. 

\-----

_I want us to go on a car trip_   
_To nowhere._

\-----

Seamus didn't quite expect their car trip to turn out like this.

When he first thought of what might happen, six days ago as he lay on the seat of the car and watched Liverpool slide past them, Seamus thought that their trip would be simply what it was called - an extended vacation. Of more time for Seamus and Dean to bond together, to fix their friendship and partnership deeper into their souls.

He didn't expect that they'd do so much exploring. That they'd do things that they never did before. That they'd travel and do things without rhyme or reason, without a schedule that Seamus had spent so long for the past few years working himself into.

Seamus should have hated it. But he didn't.

Instead of hating it, Seamus liked it. 

Seamus likes the sense of possibility, the feeling of unlimited choices stretched before him. Seamus likes the uncertainty, the strange feeling chance inspires, in being free from the architecture of planning. And as Dean drives them down a road that stretches onwards and onwards some more, Seamus knows, with a deep seated certainty, that only more good things are in store for them. They have just over a week left to go, and Seamus feels that this trip has been changing the both of them in ways they didn't expect.

In the past few hours, Seamus has felt the ice around his soul begin to crack. It started at the beginning of the forest, and sped up as he watched the fire. Seamus knows now, as he continues to creak, shatter, break out of this feeling of detachment and apathy that he never noticed, that for too long, Seamus had ice creeping through his heart. That his own way of dealing with the world after the war, by forcing his feelings into a box and separating his life into different compartments, had frozen him inside out.

And as he continues to return, breaking free and slowly coming back to life, Seamus feel gratitude and love for Dean. 

Because Dean knows Seamus better than Seamus does.

How many years, Seamus thinks, did Dean watch Seamus slowly fall into a trap that he made for himself? How many years did Dean take to convince himself that Seamus was not okay anymore, that he needed a change, a kick, a reminder to return to what he once was? It must have been a long time - Dean must have tried to push and laugh, to fix Seamus without actually pulling Seamus away from the very foundations Seamus based his identity on, the stability of a place and routine and life.

But Dean must have also watched as Seamus fell deeper and deeper, miring himself and losing himself, till Dean must have decided to throw caution to the winds and take a risk.

Dean called the trip.

Seamus is now returning to what he was. The fiery Seamus, the Seamus that felt, lived, laughed, loved. Seamus realises in his seat, in a surreal way - because his inner world is catching fire while his exterior is still blank, frozen - that he's never ever going to become the Old Seamus once more. He's matured, grown, changed past the smiling and ever-laughing Seamus. But Seamus is coming to a new balance within himself, as the seconds tick by in the car, he becomes someone more like his past self. Seamus finds himself again, and when he's done, Seamus finally feels like the jigsaw of his soul has finally settled down into its new configuration.

Seamus takes in a breath. The smell of leather and slight cotton and the smell of dusky earth from their jackets floods his nose. Seamus lets out that breath, closes his eyes, feels for his heart - and reaches over to the gearshift to entwine his hand with Dean's.

Seamus shivers. Everything feels new again, everything feels strange. Seamus's spent too long being passive, acting within the bounds of his own restrictions. Now that he's reaching out, about to say something that isn't comfortable, Seamus feels light-headed and jittery. But it's a good feeling.

Seamus smiles at Dean - a genuine Seamus Finnigan smile that cracks his mouth and makes him feel like he's dusting the last of the ice off. "Hey," Seamus says, and in that word Seamus let's Dean know that Seamus finally knows and he understands and is back at last.

And Dean - Dean's always known what Seamus wanted to say. Dean smiles, slow and joyful. 

"Welcome back, Shay."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is night, somewhere between York and Durham, and Dean and Seamus are still on the road.”

_The flash and spark of_   
_Passion is often the_   
_Only thing people see._

\-----

It is night, somewhere between York and Durham, and Dean and Seamus are still on the road. The needle is at half mark, and Dean's been driving for almost three hours now. But still he drives, asphalt rumbling under the car tyres, as they travel to a place with no destination.

Dean's been driving for almost three hours now, and Dean knows that they're going to have to stop eventually. They're too far from Durham to reach it tonight, and there's no way they can scour the streets of a city for food or a cheap place to stay for the night. A simple disillusionment charm with a heating spell will have to do for tonight, as much as they don't like to live rough.

Seamus is already nodding off. For all of his late nights, drawing pints and filling mugs, Seamus is a lightweight. Dean looks with fondness at his partner, whose mouth is slightly open, eyes half lidded, already slipping away. Only Seamus, Dean thinks fondly, would be able to fall asleep in the front seat of a car. He can sleep anywhere. And who can blame him? After the events of the day, it's no wonder that Seamus is so burnt out. Seamus burns energy just by interacting with people, though he might seem like he thrives on it, and Seamus burns even more energy dealing with his own thoughts in an honest manner.

Seamus had went through a complete rekindling of his emotions, and Dean had felt it happen as they sat by the fire in the forest. Something as crazy as that is mentally draining. So Seamus sleeps, and Dean understands why.

Dean goes for another ten minutes before deciding enough is enough. Slowing down the car, he reaches out to the back to grab their sweaters laid out on the seats. He tosses the jacket over lightly to Seamus without his hands trembling, and laughs softly when Seamus fails to react to the jacket landing on him.

Dean reaches over to arrange the jacket neatly on Seamus' lap. When the sleeve is properly tucked in, Dean gets out of the car, wand in hand, to cast a disillusionment charm on the car. The unsettled ripples take to the metal, and after Dean casts a few more protective charms for extra measure, he feels safe enough to sleep. He walks over to the other side of the car, opens it, and pulls at the lever on Seamus' seat.

Seamus comes awake at the movement of his chair being inclined, and makes a sound that Dean shushes by brushing his hand against Seamus' stomach. "Go to sleep, Shay," Dean says quietly. "You'll be driving tomorrow." Seamus mumbles a response, and it takes him three seconds for his breaths to return to their long and slow hush.

Dean shuts the door, and then clambers into the back seat of the car. A set of cushions lie on the seat, and Dean wastes no time getting himself comfortable. It is a bit of a squeeze to get his legs to fit underneath Seamus' now-reclined seat, but Dean manages without waking Seamus up a second time. Once settled, Dean relaxes, as he gazes at the roof of the car. 

Dean takes a few moments to think, and memorises the feelings he feels. He categorises the state of his heart into a few profound words, and commits them to memory. Then, and only then, does he let himself get pulled under. And in the dream that he has, a forest scene plays out without the burst of killing light.

\-----

_When in actuality_   
_Love is the cumulative_   
_Build up of touches,_   
_Kisses,_   
_Words,_   
_Sex,_   
_Emotion --_

\-----

Dean and Seamus arrive in Durham the following morning, with a light drizzle and overcast clouds heralding their arrival. Much to form, they travel to the university in Durham, and wander around the campus there. The grounds are wide, they are spacious, and Durham - by their simple impressions - is a lovely place. Dean and Seamus walk around, within the view of the world, and still remain distant from it.

"I think I know where we should go." Seamus starts as they pass a bench damp from the drizzle, little raindrops clinging to red-painted wood. It has been a while since they last spoke; for the past ten minutes Dean and Seamus had been simply meandering down a pavement, hands jammed in pockets, luxuriating in the atmosphere of contentment. Dean cocks his head at him when he hears Seamus begin. "We could go back to Hogwarts." Seamus says.

"You can't find Hogwarts by non-magical means, Shay." Dean sees Seamus' face fall, slightly crestfallen in disappointment, and Dean lets out a small laugh. He's missed this kind of interaction, the kind that they used to indulge in all the time. "We can travel to Scotland though," he says, fulfilling the reply expected of him. "We've been travelling in that direction anyway." 

"Yeah, I guess we could." Seamus agrees. "Maybe - if we can find someone there, we can go to Hogsmeade by Floo."

Dean briefly considers this idea, trying to think of an answer that would make Seamus happy, but his mind comes up blank. Most of the DA had gone to live in Britain after the war, and a few had moved to Europe. No names pop up when Dean thinks of Scotland.

But then - "Oh!" Dean says, and an idea slips into his mind. "Ron and Hermione live in Edinburgh. We could ask them."

A smile, a real Seamus smile - large and wide, flushing the freckles, appears. "Ron?" Seamus thinks out loud. "I like that."

\-----

_The effect of years_   
_Wearing down the soul_   
_To become_   
_The other half of your_   
_Beloved._

\----- 

After eight days of being on the road, Seamus caves when they reach Edinburgh.

The moment they've successfully parked the car, Seamus locates the closest McDonalds he can find, and drags Dean in. In quick succession, they queue, they pay, and receive their first fast-food meal in days.

Dean likes fast food. After spending years living rough, not quite sure of the next meal, fast food is lovely, a treat in cases of extreme uncertainty. But it doesn't stop him from taking the opportunity to tease. "Really, Seamus. Really." He says, with mock severity, as Seamus takes his first bite and makes a noise.

"I can't help it," Seamus says, and sticks out his tongue at Dean. "I have been deprived of proper food." 

"Really." Dean says. He takes a bite of his own burger. "I'm pretty sure we've been eating plenty of proper food." 

"But there's no variety!" Seamus says, throwing out a hook for a topic that has become a point of contention for the past two days. Dean shakes his head, and chooses not to respond. "And I like staying still." Seamus says. "Fast food places are the best for that." 

Dean agrees with last point. After being on the road for so long, to stay somewhere and just enjoy food whilst waiting for someone to get back to them - instead of wondering if it's time to move on, is a relief. There's an unconscious allowance to breathe, to relax.

Dean and Seamus eat with the rapturous silence of the slightly famished, or those deprived of a simpler type of comfort, till the moment Dean's phone rumbles. Dean starts when he hears the lion-like growl emanating from his pocket, and glares at Seamus. "I told you not to charm my phone," Dean says in a low voice, chiding, as he fishes out his phone. He looks through the message sent to him. "It's Ron," Dean says, when he finishes. "He says he'll be here in a bit, he had to find someone to help him send the message."

Seamus swallows a bite of his burger. "Who helped him?" 

"He didn't say. Hermione, I guess? He says he'll find us at the park, near the bridge on the Royal Mile."

"Awesome. Let's get there before he does."

"Alright," Dean says, and returns to his burger, while Seamus devours his. But somehow or the other, they actually take their time to rest, and they eat slowly. Settled into their chairs, it is only when the last bite is finished do they get up and leave. 

Seamus and Dean find Ron pacing the bridge connecting the Old and New sections of Edinburgh. "There you two are!" Ron exclaims when he spots them, and walks over them at a quick pace, robes fluttering behind him. "I thought I lost you two. Did you get my message?"

"Yep, we did." Dean affirms, and Ron grins with pride. "Sorry we're late, Seamus wanted to get Macs."

Ron's still dressed in robes, and it's evident he's just clocked off. But Ron carries his robes well, and the shape and make of the cloak now makes Ron look polished instead of endearingly dorky. There are passerbys, but Edinburgh is charmingly uncaring about such oddities. Scotland's always been a bit more loose with their acceptance of the unusual. "Seamus, that's just so expected of you." Ron laughs as they fall into step and begin walking down the bridge. "You know, Hermione was thinking of getting you all food on the way back, but I thought something like this would happen."

"You know Seamus, can't wait to eat." Dean says with the voice of the long suffering, and he laughs when Seamus punches him on the shoulder lightly. "But yeah, he had a craving. We haven't eaten 'proper food', as he calls it, since we left."

"Not even before Luna's?" Ron asks. "You know, I thought you would have done so before seeing her." Ron looks cross when Dean makes a noise of surprise. "Oh, don't look at me like that," he says, mildly offended at Dean's surprise. "Luna owled Harry the details ages ago, Hermione was talking to him the other day in the office and she assumed - correctly by the way - that you guys might want to come up this way. We're not completely clueless about the lives of other people." 

"Well, now we know." Dean ammends placatingly. Not everyone had fallen straight off the map, he tells himself. The original six would have obviously kept in touch. Harry, Hermione, Ron Ginny, Luna, and Neville were inseparable. "What did Luna tell you guys?" He asks, and Ron seizes the chance to talk as they cross a street, a bus trundling along the rails beside them.

\-----

_By no means am I_   
_Perfect._   
_In fact, I'm far from it._

\-----

Dean and Seamus stay in Hermione's apartment.

Hermione and Ron had just moved into this particular one a few months back, and the apartment hasn't quite been broken in. But Hermione insists on giving them a grand tour of the place, from the marvellous view of the river from the large panelled windows that can be shaded with blinds, to the kitchen, old-fashioned pots and pans sitting on burnished chrome counters. And from her manner of speech as she leads them around the apartment, Dean can tell that Hermione's fond of her new home.

Hermione, like Ron, has grown into her full stature. She's taken to wearing a pair of glasses during her work hours, and her diction is superbly polished, able to chain words together in a manner that is a class of magic all on its own. But Hermione's kindness, her sense of fun, isn't dampened at all - Ron in some ways has made her more fun, more lively, more vivacious. She's still herself after the war, and having not lost herself, Hermione chose to surge forward, and grew into the role she claimed. Hermione is a queen now, in stature if not in title, and like a queen she holds a court in the living room. Dean and Seamus join her and Ron on the couch to talk till the early hours of the morning.

Dean and Seamus only wake at noon the following day with a pleasant ache in their bodies. Stretching, they get up to change, and after they're dressed, they tumble out of the apartment to get breakfast. They enjoy a languid breakfast over cups of tea in a cafe nearby, and when they finish up and return, Dean and Seamus return to the apartment before splitting off to do their own things. Seamus takes to the car, while Dean returns to Ron and Hermione's apartment, and takes out battered laptop from his bag. Transferring the pictures he's taken on his camera for the past week onto his computer, Dean sinks himself into editing and cleaning up the photos. The afternoon passes quietly, and when the sun finally begins its impossibly long sunset, Dean shuts down his laptop and gets up, stretching and yawning as he makes his way out of the door. Arriving downstairs, he pulls Seamus away from the car, and drags him out onto the streets to explore Edinburgh's old quarter.

Making their way up the winding slope, they reach the top of Edinburgh castle to catch a look of the slow sunset. They decide to visit the crown jewels, and squeeze themselves into the room too small to hold many visitors to gaze upon the sparkling gems. It's been a dream of Dean's to see them, and Seamus is patient as he lets Dean wear himself out in examining the pieces in exhausting detail. When they're done, Seamus claims a reward for himself in the form of an ice cream from a cart nearby, and buying one for each of them, they make their way down the cobbled streets. As they do so, they soak in the genuine spirit of the old world that for years has mixed with the counterfeit culture espoused by the new.

When they return, Dean and Seamus find that Ron and Hermione are already home. They sit down to dinner, and over food they have a conversation spanning protection laws, Death Eaters, Seamus' bar, and Dean's art. There is much laughter, and once more, Butterbeer is brought out, and though Hermione did offer to pass around Firewhiskey. The night passes in similar fashion, and by the time they retire to bed, it is already past midnight. That second night, Dean falls asleep to the patter of evening-strung raindrops, and Seamus' arm is warm, curled around him.

The second day, Dean and Seamus get up early, and spend their day wandering the streets, camera in tow. Over the day, Seamus takes pictures - of Dean, the ground, and anything they eat, and in turn, Dean takes pictures too - of Seamus, the faces of pedestrians, and architecture. When they're hungry, they walk into a cafe and find themselves a corner table. Ordering their food from a gregarious Italian man who laughs and charms both men and women with equal charisma, they settle down to a meal of good pasta, and watch the world pass by. In this environment Seamus is in his element, and with his regained passion, he points out the various cues of customers as they come in. Dean laughs easily at some of the more interesting details Seamus points out, and in a lull of conversation, tells Seamus about his most recent sell - a series of photographs of black metal lunar constructs lit by blazing lanterns.

"Still going with your lanterns, I see," Seamus' chuckles when he hears that particular piece of information, and Dean smiles, shrugging elaborately as he does so. It's true - Dean has always trended to using light as a motif in his photography, and much of his artistic reputation in photography at least, is based on the idea of light and what it can represent or do.

"I like it, at least." Dean replies, and Seamus smiles.

"I like it too." Seamus drops a kiss on Dean's nose.

\-----

_But I am closer_   
_To perfection if_   
_I am_   
_With you._

\----- 

The next day, they go to Hogsmeade.

The grate in Hermione's apartment is the sole remaining piece of old architecture in their modern apartment, and it is already blazing by the time Seamus and Dean are dressed appropriately for travel. "You know, give George our regards." Hermione says, as she hands them the jar of Floo powder. "We haven't seen him for in months, I'm sure he's missing us. Oh, and try and get Neville to head down to Zonko's, he's due for actual food - Rose's been telling me he's been neglecting himself." 

"We'll try." Seamus promises quickly, before Hermione gets a bit out of control. She sounds, Dean thinks with amusement, a bit like his mom trying to list out groceries. "You two have been really too kind - we'll be back tonight, latest by midnight."

"Take your time," Ron smiles as he shrugs into his robes. Both Hermione and Ron have the day off, but they're off to the Ministry in London anyway to catch Harry and drag him off for an afternoon to relax. "You guys have fun, now shoo. We have to catch our ride too. Have a good time!" And with that, Dean and Seamus toss the powder into the grate, enter, and spin through the network of linked fires. 

George's shop is bustling with Hogwarts' students shopping on their day off when Dean and Seamus burst out of the fire, and it takes a minute for them to get their bearings. George is there, right in the middle of the mischievous tangle of chatter and action, and he's in control, cheerfully herding the children, slapping frisky hands, and sternly warning off people too close to the love potions rack. "Oi, George!" Seamus pitches loudly, and Dean suppresses a grin. George turns, and a grin blooms on his face when he finally recognises who has come to see him.

"Seamus!" George shouts warmly, and shoves his way through the crowd. He motions for his assistants to cover him, and when he finally breaks through the last gaggle of children, he stops to hug Seamus warmly, before repeating that action with Dean. "I haven't seen you for a while, you rascal." George says fondly. "Where have you been?" 

"Pubbing in Liverpool." Seamus says easily. "Been there for ten years now, I haven't been able to take time off for ages."

"I see, I see, of course." George's voice is light. "Too busy getting all settled down to visit your fellow prankster. So that's how it is." George frowns, but lightens up and laughs. "I jest, I jest," George's voice is warm - he's clearly missed talking to old friends. "Are you going to be here for the day?"

"We were hoping so," Dean says. "We haven't been back in years, we'd been meaning to find Aberforth in ages, we promised him ages ago that we'd come back after he gave us tips on how to start up our own business --" 

"Then we'll go see Old Aberforth then! He just got his bar renovated, by the way - it's a real treat. Just wait till these kids run off, I'll get Crocket and Alchin to take care of the place while we're gone." George says breezily.

And in ten minutes, they're out of the shop.

\-----

_And so if I had_   
_To say something_   
_I would say this._   
_(Seamus Finnigan,)_   
_I love you._

\-----

It is nearer to evening when Dean and Seamus finally say their goodbyes. They promise George they'll be back at the shop around eight to take the Floo network back to Edinburgh. They have yet to see Neville, and not forgetting Hermione's request, they wander up to Hogwarts to fix that oversight.

They find Neville in the greenhouse tending to his plants. Neville's surprised to see them, but delighted all the same - the old General of Dumbledore's Army is now a strong and smiling professor, dirty fingers and all. They stay to chat for a while, passing on their information and general location, and they make Neville promise he'll drop by for dinner and a drink sometime - everyone's kind of all over the place now, the Order and the Army both apart yet bound together. Finally, they pass him the small box of chocolates they'd bought from Honeydukes for him. And with one final promise of taking better care of himself extracted from Neville, Dean and Seamus take their leave from the greenhouse.

They meander now, Dean and Seamus, because the air in Hogwarts is different. Hogwarts, after all these years, feels like an incomplete journey - a door never fully closed shut. Having never formally completed their education, choosing to leave Hogwarts after the war was finally concluded, Hogwarts, to Dean and Seamus, feels like a different chapter of their life, if not a different book altogether. Hogwarts is full of everyday concerns, silly pranks, and mischiefs well managed; Returning to it is like stepping into another world, a respite from the grown up one they now live in.

"You know, we're going to have to start going back tomorrow," Dean says to Seamus as the thought steals through his mind. They're passing by the Great Lake, and without needing to discuss it they change their direction and walk down to the water's edge, watching as one of the giant squid's tentacles cuts smoothly through the water.

"Yeah." Seamus says, and he scuffs his foot against the grass. He's silent for a while. "Miss home?" He eventually asks, voice quiet.

Dean thinks for a moment. "No, I don't really think so."

There's another pause. "Ye blushin'," Seamus says, and for one magical moment, he slips into his Irish accent, and in surprise Dean can only marvel at it. Seamus' accent had slowly vanished over the years, softening itself, and it never returned in full force except for the rare instances he returned to Ireland. This sudden change, the reappearance of something old, is nostalgic.

Dean shoves his hands into his pockets, and lets out a breath, a small happy one. "Yeah. Yeah I am." Dean says quietly.

"Well, out we' it." Seamus says, amusement in his voice.

"I don't miss home when you're with me." Dean says quickly, and Seamus stills. Dean's mouth speaks quickly, almost as if he's afraid that if he goes any slower he'll lose the words that he needs to say the things that have been hovering just out of comprehension's reach for too long. "I could go the entire world, but I won't miss anything if you were with me."

Seamus is there in a moment, crossing that last little bit of distance between them, and he kisses Dean on the mouth. He tiptoes and cradles Dean's face with a callused hand, and Dean has to laugh a bit once more.

Dean leans in to the kiss, and breathes in the smell of Seamus - the smell of dappled sunlight and soft citrusy oranges. He wraps a hand around his partner's waist, and squeezes lightly. "Finnigan --"

Seamus catches on perfectly. "Dean Thomas," He says, latching onto Dean's words, "I would spend my life with you if you'd let me." He stops talking for a second to kiss Dean again, and then he breaks apart their kiss once more to lean back. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me," he says quietly.

"You too mate, you too." Dean says. He closes his eyes, and thinks hard about saying the three words that he has never said and should have said a long time ago.

Dean's afraid of saying the word love. Very early on in his life, Dean had reached the conclusion that nothing can define love properly, and that's what made it so frightening. Love can only be defined by what it is not.

But after nearly a two weeks of travelling and listening, of facing fears and finding passion once more, Dean's reached another conclusion, a conclusion that he has been impressed on many times for years.

Dean loves Seamus.

Seamus loves Dean. Seamus has always been sure of his feelings - once he acknowledged it, that is. But Dean never wanted to face his own - in some ways Dean had been afraid of committing. It's what caused Dean sometimes, to have his periods of wanderlust, to pack up and get away from Liverpool for weeks at a time - to escape these feelings that had been slowly building up within him.

But Seamus had always waited for Dean to come back, and he was always faithful. Seamus is gravity to Dean, the well of stability that a lost comet can return to to rest. Ultimately, Seamus has Dean's heart, lock and key, and Dean accepts that.

So Dean closes his eyes and says the words he had never quite thought he would ever say. After ten years, after being afraid to say the right words to define what they had between them completely, without any trace of ambiguity, Dean says the truth.

"I love you, Seamus Finnigan."

And Seamus laces their hands and squeezes gently to draw him in for a hug. They stand there, swaying in conjunction with each other, by the lake and by the castle. "You know," Seamus says quietly. "At this point, the books would say that we've reached a happy ending."

Dean smiles, because again - Seamus is saying the truth. The place is perfect, quiet, almost tranquil. There are no witnesses to their little scene, and everything just feels perfect. More perfect than any memory Dean can think of, even those that have been made in the past few days. "Yeah, I guess it is," Dean says, and he laughs because he believes it too. "I guess it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was really, a love of labour on my part. I've always read Deamus fanfiction, but I never committed to writing one till one day, I decided to put some of my own wishes and longings into my writing.
> 
> I am very much in love with the grown up world that comes Post-HP. While I'm not sure if I'll ever write the prequel to this series, which would deal very much with depression and PTSD, I believed a bit of happiness was needed in good measure.


End file.
